


Lykos

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Series: Lykos [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, M/M, Mating, Mild Gore, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turned on a hunt gone south, Sam and Dean must adapt to their new selves, lest they become like the uncontrollable monsters they've spent their entire lives hunting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lykos

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Moon, Boys!](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/91295) by inanna-maat. 



> This is set toward the end of season 2 (after Heart but obviously before AHBL). I've taken liberties with the werewolves in that control of the shift comes down to the will of the individual.  
> You can listen to the playlist for this fic [here](http://8tracks.com/elenajames/lykos)  
> Written for the [2014 Supernatural Reverse Bang.](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/)  
> Major thank you to my wonderful beta [aire-blair](http://aire-blair.livejournal.com/) and my lovely artist [inanna-maat](http://inanna-maat.livejournal.com/)!

 

The hunt they were on was easy enough, a haunting in a small inn off I-90. A poltergeist had been getting progressively more active, and had killed two tourists so far. They’d booked a room for a few nights, hoping to resolve the case quickly and move on to the next.

Fortunately, tracking down the ghost’s identity had been easy. Calvin Walcott had perished in a fire at the inn, trapped in his upstairs room by a blaze that originated in the kitchen. Finding his grave turned out to be a different story entirely. Walcott hadn’t been a popular man by any means, and his plot was among the unmarked many in the local cemetery. Sam had wasted two days sifting through the poorly kept records left behind by previous pastors, trying to narrow it down so they wouldn’t have to risk digging up more than a couple graves.

"Can’t believe this shit," Dean grunts, hefting up another shovelful of dirt from the grave he’s digging up. "You better be damn sure about this, Sam. Otherwise, we’re gonna have to bail on this one."

Sam only huffs and nods in return. It has to be one of these two, the rest he was able to identify. There was no other option but to salt and burn them both. The risk of getting caught was higher though, and they’d have to leave town tomorrow if they were going to get away without suspicion.

Eventually, his shovel hits wood with a thunk. “Fucking finally,” he mutters. “You close, Dean?”

"Yeah yeah yeah, I’m gettin’ there," Dean shouts back. Sam ignores the faint mumbles he can hear and clears more of the dirt away. Swiping sweaty strands of hair back from his face, he leans back against the wall of the grave. There are no signs of Walcott yet, and it’s making him nervous. If they’ve fucked this up, they won’t get another chance, and who knows how many could get hurt or killed before another hunter can be called in.

Sam can hear Dean’s shovel as it hits coffin, and that’s when a sharp breeze sends dirt and pebbles showering down on him from the pile above. He tosses the shovel out of the grave and hauls himself up, feeling the temperature drop around him as he grabs gasoline and salt, already pouring it over the corpse in Dean’s grave as his brother is scrambling out. The blast of a shot gun sounds behind him, as he flings salt and gasoline over the mouldering remnants of corpse.

A roar of rage and heat behind him as the spirit goes up in smoke tells him they got it, and he sighs in relief. Dean plops down on the headstone and wipes his forehead. “Good one, Sammy,” he grins, happier now that the ghost is taken care of. Sam nods and grabs up his shovel, getting a start on filling the one grave back in while the other burns.

It starts as a prickle, a vague sense of being watched that drives him to glance around every few shovelfuls. He catches Dean’s eye, and the nod he gets tells him that his brother feels it too. They fill the graves as quick as they can, trying to act casual in rounding up their tools and getting back to the car. It’s when they’re halfway across the sprawling graveyard that a chorus of growls and thudding steps sound around them. The last thing Sam sees before a blow to the head robs him of consciousness is a werewolf tackling Dean from behind, teeth sinking into his neck. The scream that would have been his brother’s name dies in his throat. 

 

Sam wakes in a daze. He’s laid out on a dirt floor, heavy weight of a shackle around his ankle. The barn he’s in is half-lit, empty other than himself, piles of straw, and some farm equipment. Pushing himself up, Sam examines the thick cuff of the shackle. He could pick it, he thinks, rummaging through his pockets only to find all his picks and weapons gone. Barefoot means the lock pick he slides into his boot is gone as well, and they’re nowhere within sight, let alone reach. There’s a table near the door, outline faint in the dark, but there’s no hope of him reaching it from where he’s chained.

Turning to face the wall, he braces his feet against the wood and, sparing a moment to check for any sound that would indicate he’s not alone, wraps his hands in the chain and yanks. The wood creaks, but only a little. Sam struggles, fighting to pull the anchor of the chain out, but to no avail. Collapsing on his back, he huffs for breath, dizzy from the strain.

_Sam!_

Sam bolts up into a sitting position, looking around the empty building. “Dean? Dean!” he shouts, and strains for the tinny, far-off sound of his brother’s voice.

_Sam you gotta- Fuck!_

The panicked curse sends Sam into a frenzy. He rips and tears at the chain, the wood, the anchor, yelling in frustration when faint screaming reaches his ears. It’s when it goes silent that the metal spike yanks free of the wood with a crack. Dragging the chain up, he stumbles for the table. There are no keys, but his picks are there, and he’s able to get the lock quick, shackle hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

 

Sam tears the door open, dashing out into moonlight. Pain flares across his skin, muscles spasming and sending him tumbling to the ground with a choked off shout. His vision spins and he writhes helplessly on the dewy grass, fingers clawing deep into the earth beneath his hands. It’s over as fast as it began, and he’s left stunned, staring up at the starry night sky.

_Sammy?_

“D’n,” he mumbles, rolling over and pushing himself to his feet, lurching toward the forest edge. There are still twitches and shudders going through his body, but he has to get to Dean, get away from this barn before his captors come back. His chest is heaving with heavy breaths as he stumbles, catching himself against a nearby tree. The woods are dark around him, trickles of moonlight piercing the darkness here and there through gaps in the branches. His vision is clear, though, too clear and his skin is prickling, body on fire.

And there it is again. That tickle of a whisper in his ear, muted enough to be maddening, loud enough to be tantalizing.

_C’mon, Sam. Come on._

"Dean," he pants, angrily desperate and the thin sound of his brother’s voice reaches him again.

_Get the lead out, Sammy. Don’t got all night._

The tone is all aggravating older brother. A growl tears its way out of Sam’s throat through clenched teeth, and he’s running again before he knows it. Fear and fury drive him forward because he’s sick of whatever this is that Dean is doing, whatever the hell has been done to him, and- and this isn’t some fucking _game_. He snarls, and suddenly a light breeze draws a scent to him that’s familiar as breathing, tang of salt and copper mixed in. Skidding sideways through the sharp turn, he veers left, skidding momentarily on hands and feet before shoving himself back upright.

Just ahead of him, another figure bursts out of the foliage and runs off away from him. All his instincts are screaming at him to chase, and he gives in. The creature ahead of him is prey now, and an extra burst of speed at that thought sends him flying forward, tackling it to the ground. Sam aims to sink his fangs into the other’s throat, but they’re already fighting back.

Over and over they roll through the grass and and rocks and dirt, growling as they punch and swipe with sharpened claws. The other’s nails rake across Sam’s face and he howls in pain and anger, sinking his own deep into the flesh of the shoulder he has a grip on. He’s unprepared for the other to suddenly heft him up and slam him down to the earth, knocking the wind from him momentarily. He snaps at the other’s face with his fangs, defence until he can get his bearings back.

"ENOUGH," is roared into his face, an animalistic thunder of a command, and he’s lifted slightly only to be banged back down again. "Enough, Sam," comes the command again, slightly more human this time. " _Control_ , little brother. You can do it.”

Dean presses him into the forest floor with the full weight of his body, only tentatively loosening his hold on Sam as Sam’s fangs recede slightly, his claws turning back to fingernails.

"Dean?" he pants, thoughts racing as animal instinct clears from his mind, spiralling into a panicked whirlwind. "What - what’s happening to me? Dean?"

"Shh, Sammy, shh," his brother soothes, the edge of a rumble under his voice. "It’s the only way, man. You just gotta let it happen."

"Let _what_ happen,Dean?” Sam growls, feeling anger flare up in him again, overshadowing the panic as things start clicking into place.

"None of that now, Sam," and this time Dean’s voice is firm, authoritative  … _alpha_ , some part of Sam’s mind whispers.

"Alpha?" he repeats quietly to himself, and Dean’s body stiffens above him.

"Fuck. What the fuck," Dean mutters, cause the wolf in his hindbrain is growling, grating out a litany of _mine mine MINE_ in his mind, and he has to shove down the urge to _bite_ \- _**Not yet**_ , he snaps at it, mildly surprised when he feels it back off.

Shaking his head, he peers back down at Sam. His little brother’s eyes are wide with fear, his face bloody where Dean clawed him.

"Wolves. Werewolves," Sam whispers, and Dean watches sickly as the horror scrawls itself across Sam’s face. "Dean, we have to - there are silver bullets in the car, we gotta -"

"No," Dean growls in fury, and he winces when Sam flinches under him, eyes flickering away from Dean’s face. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, leaning down to press his face into Sam’s neck, nuzzling just behind his ear. "No, Sammy," he breathes. "We’re not doin’ that."

"But Dean - "

"I said _no_ , Sam,” he snarls, and is surprised by how the tone reverberates. Sam’s eyes flash gold, and he goes limp under Dean, wide-eyed and nodding weakly. “You and me, little brother. We’re gonna control this. We have to. Now, come on.”

Dean stands, pulling Sam up, and making sure that he’s steady on his feet. Sam can see the blood splattered in dark stains over Dean’s chest and on his jeans. There are rips in his clothes, but no injuries beneath shredded fabric and smeared blood. He’d feel relieved if it wasn’t more evidence of what Dean had become. What they’d both become.

Sam trails his brother through the forest, noting that the woods are getting denser rather than thinning out. His mind is in turmoil, knowing he shouldn’t be able to see in the near pitch black, let alone hear the scurrying and thudding hearts of the small creatures in the trees and underbrush. And Dean. He can’t believe Dean doesn’t want to end this, can’t fathom his brother being willing to live like monsters.

“What are we doing, man?” he finally asks.

“Getting you fed, before the rest of the pack finds us,” he glances sideways at Sam, looking unsure. “I may have killed their alpha. Sorta lost it when I realized he sank his teeth into you.”

Dean waves his hand toward Sam’s arm, and there’s a silvery outline of a bite mark in the tender flesh of his inner arm. Sam stops in his tracks, running his fingers over it, but Dean only allows him to linger for a moment before tugging him forward.

“C’mon, Sam. You gotta be weak, and you’ll feel the hunger soon. I know it hit me quick.”

Sam gulps and allows himself to be pulled along, falling into step beside his brother. “But … what did ….”

Dean doesn’t look at him when he answers, voice low. “I tore his heart out, Sam. One of his b-one of the other’s, too. I’m, ah, I’m good.”

“And the rest of the pack?”

“Hunting,” Dean grunts. “They’re supposed to bring them back to that barn. That’s why you had to get out. Was trying to get to you, but one of them came back early, musta been close enough to hear him.”

The _when I ripped his heart out_ is there, unspoken, and Sam lets it lay. A snap of a twig gets their attention, and a slight shift in wind brings a scent to his nose that makes his mouth water. Their stances shift down into a prowl, and it’s not long before they can see the small herd of deer through the trees. Dean’s outstretched arm keeps Sam back, makes him focus over the demanding hunger in his gut and the growls of the wolf in his mind.

But then the arm is withdrawn and Sam’s off like a shot, eyes set on a doe that had strayed away. She bounds through the trees, jackhammer of her heart loud in Sam’s ears. He can feel his body shifting, can feel the extra speed set in, and he lunges. The doe goes down hard and his fangs tear through her neck, clawed hand punching through her ribcage to twist and yank her heart out. He looks up to meet Dean’s eyes, glowing red in the dark where he’s watching Sam, and instinct pulls his hand up, holding the heart out towards his brother. It earns him a pleased, fanged smile and Dean shakes his head, gesturing for him to go on.

Sam eats his fill, a small part of him feeling ill as the wolf is sated. For a moment, he stays slumped on the ground next to the carcass, bloodied hands resting on his knees. Calloused fingers slip through his hair and he rests his head against Dean’s thigh. His wolf sighs and rolls over, and Sam tips his head back to look up at his brother. Another stroke of fingers down his cheek, too tender for what had just happened, and then Dean is helping him up.

Together, they skirt around the cabin and back toward town the smell of burnt corpse causing them both to gag when it hits them. The Impala is still there, amazingly, the graveyard far enough out of town that no one’s stumbled across it yet. They gather their scattered tools, Sam gritting his teeth at the sight of the blood that has to be Dean’s on the ground as he works. Luckily, they’d left their duffels in the car just in case things went sideways. A quick change of clothes and they are on the road, neither wanting to hang around to deal with the remaining members of the werewolf pack, not yet.

“We’ll head for the cabin,” Dean says. “Give us some time to get used to things, figure out what to do from here.”

Sam idly twirls the small silver blade he’d taken from the weapons duffel while he thinks, watching the faint gleam of the metal in the dark. When he notices Dean’s eyes nervously flicking between the knife and the road, Sam takes the opportunity to voice the question that’s been in his mind this whole time. “How are you okay with this Dean? Why are we even running when we should be putting silver through our brains?” He tries to keep his tone even, despite wanting to yell, to demand, hell to shake his brother to just understand the incongruence between what he knows about Dean and his brother’s actions.

“I don’t...We don’t have to be monsters, Sam. Not if we can control it. I can’t just let you put a bullet in your brain without fucking trying okay?” Dean’s voice is strained, grip tight on the steering wheel, and Sam can see a glint of fang appear as Dean keeps talking. “I know that makes me a hypocrite but we can’t just go out like -like this.”

Dean is growling now, deep in his throat, and Sam’s heart is racing, one hand clenched around the handle of the knife. “Okay, Dean. Okay, I just had to know man, alright? We’ll try. We’ll figure something out. But you gotta promise me, if things go south . . .”

He watches Dean take a deep breath, shaking loose the white-knuckled grip he has on the steering wheel and the growling slips away. “Okay. Yeah. Of course, Sammy. Now put that damn thing away, huh?”

It’s an nearly an 8 hour drive through the mountains into Montana, stopping at a small gas station to wash the last of the blood from their hands and faces. Sam takes the wheel when they pass through Coeur d’Alene so Dean can try to wind himself down. Stress and anger had already caused him to start shifting twice, and frustration and horror at himself are only making it worse. So he slips his sunglasses on and slumps down in the seat, some of the soft rock he claims to only keep on hand for Sam in the tape deck. They’re just about two hours out when he finally nods off, and only about an hour when Dean’s spare cell phone rings, causing him to bolt upright.

Sam’s internally cursing whoever it is for waking him as Dean rummages through the glovebox for it, grunting a rough greeting when he flips it open. Sam listens, not quite catching all that Bobby’s tinny voice is saying as it crackles out of the speaker, but the frown on Dean’s face that gets progressively deeper doesn’t bode well.

“Yeah, Bobby,” he finally says. “We know about the bodies, but Sam and I had to book it out of town okay? Yes, we were gonna call you, we’re pretty sure it’s werewolves and we’re not gonna be able to get back in there. Nah, man we had to dig up two graves and then bail ‘cause things got messy. No way can we go digging around there again. Yeah, yeah, we’ll be back up if they need it, I’ll have Sam send you the details. We’re headed to that old cabin of Rufus’ right now, s’pose he’ll mind? No, Bobby, I’m fine and Sam’s fine we just - Hey old man, we just need to cool our jets, okay? We woulda come to you if it was real bad.”

Dean’s expression is guilty when he meets Sam’s gaze, but Sam can only shrug. The lie is necessary. They don’t need anyone innocent, anyone _human_ caught up in this. Especially not Bobby.

“Yeah. Yeah okay. Thanks, Bobby. Bye,” Dean flips the phone shut with a sigh and leans back in his seat. “He’s suspicious as all hell. Paranoid hunters anyway.”

“Paranoia’s what keeps some of us alive,” Sam answers off-hand.

“Uh huh. We’re still gonna have to pay him a visit between, ah. Between moons. I don’t think he’s gonna be ready to hear what we’ve gotta tell him anytime soon, and we sure as hell don’t need him paying a surprise visit.”

“He’s gonna send someone else after the pack? You sure that’s a good idea?”

Dean’s expression is torn when Sam glances over at him. “We’ll tell ‘em all we can, Sam, and be ready to be back up if we have to. I’m sure whoever Bobby sends can handle it, he’s not gonna put some slouch on a case like that.”

His brother is right, Sam knows he is but there’s a niggling sense of guilt and wrong in the back of his head that he squashes down. Truthfully, once they get to the cabin, all their focus will need to be on how to live like this without risking the lives of people and without getting hunters on their own tails. Snorting internally, Sam turns all of his focus back to navigating the rest of the way up to the cabin, knowing Dean will pitch a fit if he thinks Sam is being careless with his baby.

When they finally pull up, Dean hops out first and gets the door open while Sam grabs their bags from the trunk. The inside of the cabin is cobwebbed and dusty, a testament to how long it’s been since Rufus made use of it. They’ll have to run back to town later for supplies if they’re going to spend any length of time here, Sam’s sure. For now, they dust off the scarred table top and plunk their bags down on it. It’s a little eerie, quiet as it is with light streaming in through dirty, rune-painted windows. Still, there’s a fridge, TV, and two rooms in back, as well as a ratty couch and third bed shoved into the space on the other side of the fireplace.

They shake the dust out of the musty blankets and sheets, and from the itch in his nose and the look on Dean’s face, it’s clear to Sam that laundry is on the to-do list. Together they bundle up all the linens, stripping down the spare bed and stuffing all of it in the trunk, away from their hyper-sensitive noses. A quick rummage through the cabinets turns up not much more than canned beans and soup, so Sam doesn’t even bother with a shopping list before they head to town.

Laundry is sorted into the biggest washers in the laundromat, and Dean opts for leaving the stuff to wash while they stock up. The entire ordeal takes a while, and Sam notices Dean getting more and more tense the longer they’re around people. It’s a relief to them both when they get back to the cabin, hauling in clean bedding and food. Sam makes the beds while Dean starts on the food, clattering around the small kitchen area. The smell of the cooking steaks that Dean had insisted upon getting makes his mouth water, and he hurries to finish the beds.

A wall of tension slams up between them when Sam steps back into the kitchen, and Dean whirls around with a growl, eyes flash bright red. Acting on instinct, Sam stops in his tracks and focuses his gaze on the floor, low whine in his throat. He hears an oddly pleased sound come from his brother, and when he looks up, there’s a perplexed look on Dean’s face.

“Sorry,man. I don’t - Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think it’s . . . just the wolf thing, we’ll figure it out. Just don’t bite me okay?” Sam tries to joke to lighten the mood. Dean just shakes his head with a frown on his face and waves Sam closer. He tries not to be tentative in his approach, knowing that Dean was only acting on instinct, but that doesn’t keep him from tensing when Dean grabs him to haul him closer.

“Dean?” he asks, startled to find himself wrapped in a hug, Dean nosing just behind his ear. “Dude, are you sniffing me?”

“Shut up, man,” Dean grunts, embarrassment clear in his voice. “Gotta get your scent, get some of my scent on you. You’re ‘pack,’ and I guess this is how my stupid wolf-brain remembers that.”

Sam ponders for a moment before turning his face to Dean’s neck, skimming his own nose along warm skin. Dean smells good, although not quite right, so Sam pushes a little closer, rubbing his cheek against his brother. When he pulls back, he can scent himself on Dean and there’s an odd curl of contentment in his belly at that. They stand like that for a moment, breathing each other in before Dean jerks in Sam’s hold.

“Fuck, the steaks,” he curses, striding back to the stove. Sam stands there dumbly until Dean shoots him a look over his shoulder. He shakes his head and snatches their bags from the table, dumping Dean’s in his room.

Sam relaxes a little more when nothing happens on his second trip back, laptop tucked under his arm, and he settles at the table. Dean’s left a six pack of beer on the table, and Sam eagerly cracks one open. A plate of rare steak and fried potatoes thunks down in front of him as Dean joins him at the table. Sam ignores the part of his brain that says the steak is a little too rare in favor of how good it tastes.The food is devoured in no time, and Sam thanks his brother for cooking as he gathers up the dishes to wash. Dean grabs another beer, and heads over to fiddle with the ancient TV in the corner.

After drying his hands on a towel, Sam plops down next to Dean on the couch. “So,” he says, and Dean sighs. “You really think we can do this? Even after Madison?” It hurts to even bring her up, but he has to. What happened to her is a very real possibility for them.

“Madison . . . Sammy, I hate to say it but Madison went bad. That was her choice, she could’ve fought it, could’ve tried to be different, but we both know that she didn’t,” Dean says softly.

“And what if we can’t, Dean? How many people are we gonna tear through before Bobby or some other hunter wises up and puts us down?” Sam demands angrily, shoving to his feet. “Or what if only one of us does huh? Are you going to shoot me if it comes to that, or do you really think I could shoot you?”

“No way,” Dean growls, and that red glow starts around the rims of his irises, “don’t even talk like that. We’ll train, we’ll learn, Sam. We’ve got to, cause there’s no way you, me, or any other hunter is gonna put silver through one of our hearts.”

“Dean,” Sam pleads, realizing just how deep Dean’s denial runs. “You’ve got to realize, we may not have a choice. Just because Lenore and her nest can control their hunger, doesn’t mean we can control our - our wolf. We have to be prepared.”

Dean looks like he’s going to argue for a moment before he slumps back, eyes fading to green, and running his thumb around the lip of his beer. “Yeah. You’re right,” he says tiredly, running one hand over his face.

“Let’s take a few days, figure out the quirks like the meat thing and what kinda stuff triggers the change. Anger’s the obvious, stress, fear, and, um, whatever territorial thing that is you had going on. Can’t exactly have you chasing Bobby out of every room. Then we’ll tell him.”

Sam relaxes when Dean nods in agreement. They’re too tired, finally coming down from the adrenaline of the night, and Sam can feel the wolf in his head settling. He carefully shifts closer to Dean, close enough that their shoulders touch, and calms more when his brother gives a quiet sigh of relief. A few hours are spent watching the novella Dean managed to conjure up on the rabbit ears, offering translations for the phrases Dean doesn’t quite catch. They call Bobby, filling him in on all the details they can remember between them and promising to call every couple of days to check in. Sam heads to bed pretty much as the sun hits the horizon, Dean trailing behind to his own room.

 

A week is spent out in the woods surrounding the cabin hunting together, adjusting to heightened senses and abilities, and, at times, fighting. Their tempers flare faster now, spurring on the change, and more than once they return to the cabin bloody and bruised. Every injury disappears by morning, leaving their bodies blank canvases for the new day’s damage. Dean, Sam learns, now runs on alpha instinct, demanding that Sam follow his  lead more than ever. Dean tries to reel it in, and Sam tries to be patient, but it’s as infuriating as it is . . .  Some days it works, and things almost feel like normal. Other days find them snarling and snapping at each other in a lethal dance.

Today is one of those days. Dean’s do-as-I-say attitude, all his rough shoves, and his dominating touches send Sam’s patience flying out the window. He tears into Dean with a ferocity that always disturbs him in retrospect, but at the time is all Sam can register, and Dean gives every bit as good as he gets. Dusk finds them limping back to the cabin. Their clothes are torn, stained with blood and sweat, and Sam has Dean’s arm wrapped around his shoulder to take pressure of a badly twisted ankle. They freeze at the tree line, staring at the bulky shadow of Bobby’s pickup truck next to the Impala.

“Well,” Dean grumbles, “gotta face the music sometime.”

Sam moves them forward, cautiously jiggling the door open, and guiding Dean in, shielding him as much as possible. Bobby’s at the the table, six pack in front of him, and the older hunter is on his feet as soon as they’re through the door. He’s dousing them in holy water before they can speak, eyeing them for any signs of black eyes or smoke. When neither are evident, he nods and tosses a silver knife in their direction, freezing when they allow it to clatter to the floor

“Bobby,” Dean starts, but Bobby’s gun is drawn in a flash, aimed directly at Sam’s heart as he backs across the room.

Sam hears Dean snarl beside him, and he’s shoving his brother down, pain searing through his arm as the silver bullet strikes him. He lets out a yelp, but forces himself to focus on tackling and pinning his brother to the floor. Dean’s growls echo in the small room, claws gouging long grooves in the wood as he tries to tear his way toward Bobby. The older hunter’s eyes are wide, watching the brothers fight with supernatural strength on the dirty cabin floor.

Sam’s pleas fall on deaf ears, and he ends up resorting to the same tactics Dean had used on him in the woods. It takes two bodily slams before Dean’s focused fury seems to break. He’s panting under the full weight of his brother, Sam pressing down on him hard and clawed fingers are digging into Dean’s biceps.

“You gotta stop, Dean. It’s Bobby, man, you gotta stop.”

Dean’s heart his hammering in his chest, wolf howling in rage at the attack on his pack. The mingled scent of Sam and Bobby’s fear reaches him though, and that’s when shame goes tearing through him. Bobby is standing by the door, staring down at them with his gun in his hand.

“M’sorry,” Dean whispers, dropping his head and going lax under Sam. “Fuck, Bobby, I’m sorry.”

“‘Pretty sure it’s werewolves’ my ass,” Bobby says faintly, and Dean can scent the moment fear warps into despair.

“Please, Bobby. Don’t - don’t shoot us okay?” Sam’s voice comes out scared from above Dean, and it wrenches at Dean’s heart.

“Damn it, boys,” Bobby breathes, sounding pained. “Damn it. Let your brother up, Sam, I’m not gonna shoot you.”

Carefully, Sam clambers to his feet, and pulls Dean up, settling him on the couch. Tension fills the room, and Dean yanks his little brother down beside him so Sam isn’t standing so protectively in front of him. Dean presses his handkerchief to Sam’s bleeding arm, ignoring the fiery points of pain in his own caused by his brother’s claws. Bobby circles around, gingerly sitting in the rickety rocking chair across from them, and resting his gun on his lap.

“So. You two gonna fess up, or do I have to drag it out of you?” He glares at them until they piece together their story for him, from the moment they encountered the pack in the graveyard to now. With a sigh, he leans back in the rocker and runs a hand over his face tiredly.

“You two sure as hell know how to get yourselves in a damn mess,” Bobby huffs, eyeballing them both, and Sam can feel his face heat.

Dean is slumped next to him, eyes on the floor. Bobby finally reaches out across the empty space to grab his chin, forcing Dean to meet his eyes. The whimper that escapes Dean’s throat startles Sam and sends something whimpering in him, too.

“Hey, none of that now. You ain’t puppies, you’re damn werewolves,” Bobby teases, patting Dean’s cheek, and instantly the mood lightens. Dean straightens up a little at that and Sam lets himself relax back into the couch. “Now, just what the hell have you two been doing up here?”

The brothers exchange a look and Bobby snorts. “Come on. There haven’t been any unusual deaths, so I know you haven’t been snacking on the locals. Whole lotta tore up animals though. Deer and the like, by the sounds of it.”

“Eating . . . helps. Keeps the wolf calm, and makes it easier to control the change,” Sam starts slowly, watching Bobby’s face to gauge Bobby’s reaction as he talks. “We’ve been working on figuring out what sets it off, how to control it. Although,” he laughs wryly, “that ends up being more us beating the crap out of each other than anything.”

“That’s why you two look like you’ve been through the grinder, huh,” Bobby muses, eyeing the littered claw marks and bloody clothes.

“It’ll be gone a few hours, Bobby. We’ve had worse,” Dean says, stretching and resting his leg on the low table, wincing slightly when it jars the sprain.

He listens as Bobby and Sam go back and forth, talking about what they’ve learned and comparing it to the lore. They discuss what they’ve tried, what has worked and what definitely hasn’t, Bobby offering up some suggestions of his own as he listens.

Dean’s wolf is a little restless because of the pain, but it settles as the night wears on, especially once it gets the idea that Bobby is family (through one very awkward scenting). Eventually, the brothers abandon the living room, Bobby claiming the bed in the corner so he can sleep after the drive. They sit together on the edge of Sam’s bed, pressed against each other’s sides. It’s warm, comfortable, and tempting to stay like this, or curl up together on the not-big-enough bed.

Sam watches as Dean’s fingers trace over the tendons in his hand before tracing along Sam’s palm, and threading their fingers together. It feels good - better than it should, Sam thinks - and he enjoys it for as long as he can. Dean gives a brief squeeze before slipping away, and Sam whines quietly despite himself when the door clicks shut. It’s hard to sleep despite how tired he is, questions spinning through his mind, and he buries his head beneath the pillows to drown out sound and light before he finally drifts off. 

 

Bobby is a monster, Dean’s sure of it. He’s worked and pushed at Sam and Dean until they’re sore and exhausted, too tired to even bicker. Still, though, their control improves quickly under the old taskmaster’s regiment, even with the full moon creeping ever closer. Dean is glad for the exhaustion; at the very least, it keeps him from worrying. He’s not looking forward to the inevitable argument about Bobby leaving them alone for the moon. Dean’s spared a few sleepy moments to the thought of he and Sam taking off for the old man’s sake, but in the end he knows it’s not a good choice. Wild animals are plentiful here, tourist season is winding down, and they’re familiar with the area. It’s logical, but he doesn’t have to like it if it puts Bobby in danger.

To his surprise, Bobby packs up the day before the first night of the full moon, explaining that he’s got a room in town. He leaves after dark, pulling each of the brothers into a tight hug before firing up his pickup truck and setting out down the winding mountain road.

Dean can feel the itch like fire under his skin the moment he wakes. It’s a restlessness that grows and grows until it eventually drives him out of the cabin. He runs fast and far, trying to burn out the energy thrumming in him in the hope that, if he can, he’ll be less likely to want to tear into Sam or some poor unsuspecting person when the moon rises. The wolf relishes the freedom, dragging him far out, and taking chase after a deer when he turns back to the cabin, but another scent captures his interest.

He follows it back the direction of the cabin, something familiar and alluring. When he pushes the door open, there’s a clatter as Sam pushes to his feet, knocking the chair he’d been sitting in over. Dean finds himself in a standoff with his brother, tension rising with every step he takes toward him. It snaps in an instant when Sam tries to bolt for the still-open door, but he doesn’t make it nearly that far. Dean is on him immediately, crowding up behind him and pressing him into the wall. Sam shivers as Dean noses along his neck, lapping at the tender skin, and he’s struck again with the urge to _bite_.

“You smell good, Sam,” he breathes over the damn flesh, and delights in the jerk and moan it earns. Sam is still struggling, though. “Quit it, Sammy. You wanna be good for me, don’t you? Be good for your alpha.” Carefully, Dean presses his teeth into the nape of Sam’s neck and gratification sweeps through him when Sam’s struggles stop. The younger wolf lets loose a quiet whine, prompting Dean to turn him in his arms.

“Alpha?” Sam’s voice is strained, scared, and that is not acceptable. Not in the least.

Taking a few deep breaths through his mouth (breathing in through his nose only brings in more of that sweet scent), Dean forces himself to calm. “Sam. It’s okay, little brother. M’not going to hurt you,” he soothes, reaching up to stroke Sam’s cheek with one hand. The other drifts to his side to rub gently up and down, caressing instead of restraining. Heat rolls off Sam along with his scent, enticing as it is worrying. Hazel eyes drift shut, and Dean presses closer until Sam has his face cradled against Dean’s neck, hands fisted in the fabric of Dean’s flannel. Dean just holds Sam close, urgency pushed aside in his need to care for his brother. _Mate_ , the wolf insists, but it’s quieter this time.

“Dean,” Sam finally breathes, and Dean gives a little hum of acknowledgement. “What’s happening?”

“I think you know, Sam. I think we both knew from the moment I had you under me in the woods, and you called me alpha. You have to want it though,” Dean says seriously, pulling back to meet Sam’s eyes. Everything pauses for a beat of a moment before Sam presses his mouth to Dean’s. It’s soft and sweet in the moment before Dean growls low and pulls away.

“Run.”

Sam is out the door like a shot, Dean close behind him, shredding and stripping clothes as they run. They shift together on a howl under the light, a full one that leaves a darkly coated wolf bolting through the shadows with a tawny one close behind. Dean evels in the chase and lets Sam run, nipping at his heels to spur him on until they’ve gone deep into the forest. He pushes enough to catch up before pouncing on Sam, sending them rolling through the leaves and underbrush.

It’s a fight then, snarling and snapping until they come to a tumbling stop, Dean’s now-human form pinning Sam’s to the grassy ground. Moonlight dances across sweat-glistened skin, bright as it bears down on the small clearing they’ve wound up in. Dean wants to howl in delight, in victory, in homage to their goddess above them, but there are more important things, trapped by his arms and between his thighs.

Gold glows in Sam’s eyes while heat and mate-scent roll off him in intoxicating waves. The look is defiant, a challenge and a dare accented by the faint snarl that twists his lips and bares sharp fangs. It escalates into a reverberating growl when Dean dips low and close to brush their cheeks together, nosing toward Sam’s ear and just behind it. He tightens his grip, and then skates his fangs over the rapid pulse in Sam’s neck. Dean smirks at the jerk of hips and how the growl shifts toward a moan. Sam’s hard, beautifully so, and all Dean wants is to fuck him. Now.

Dean lets go of Sam’s arms and drags the tips of his claws down Sam’s torso, grinning at the trembling muscles. Sam gasps and his hands clamp tight on Dean’s wrists - not to stop him, just for something to hang on to.

“Gotcha, Sammy,” he leans forward to breathe hotly against Sam’s ear. That sends Sam fighting again, and this time when Dean shoves him down, it’s face first. “Mine,” Dean growls fiercely, thrusting against his brother, and he can feel Sam laugh.

“Prove it,” the flash of gold and dark hazel over Sam’s shoulder is an enticement now, because Sam’s wolf has gotten what it wants - the alpha to fight for his mate and come out on top.

Dean scratches down Sam’s sides to his hips, admiring the arch of back and hiss it earns him. He urges his claws to retract so he can slip his fingers down to Sam’s ass, gasping when they find the wetness there. Rubbing them together, he can see the shine of slick in the light and that’s when it hits him. Sam is wet. Sam is wet _for him_ and Dean can’t resist licking it from his fingers, groaning at the taste. He uses his hands to spread Sam’s cheeks and shoves enough to nudge his cock against the heat and wetness of Sam’s hole.

“C’mon,” Sam demands, panting. “Fuck, Dean, do it or I’ll find another - Fuck!”

Tight hands grip Sam’s hips as Dean thrusts in, a wild flash of pain and relief causing Sam to shout. Dean buries himself deep, grabs Sam’s hair, and pulls his brother up against his chest, wrapping the other arm around Sam’s waist as he starts to fuck him.

“No others,” Dean grits. “You are my brother, my pack, my mate.” Dean punctuates his words with deep, hard thrusts that would’ve damaged any human, but Sam demands more with the way he thrusts back, the scrabble to have his hands join Dean’s in their bruising grip on his body. Part of Sam thinks being fucked in the dirt like an animal should be shameful, degrading, but he can only feel the want, pleasure, and satisfaction that dissolves border between his mind and the wolf’s.

Sam’s body is burning from moonlight and lust and the dizzying sparks of heat that race through him as Dean fucks him hard, and his demands for more turn into pleas. Sam strays a hand toward his cock only to have it slapped away, and Dean hauls him further back onto his cock by the waist.

“Not til I say, not yet,” the words come in pants, and all Sam can do is give the alpha what he wants.

Pleasure spirals higher and higher, laced with just enough pain from claws and the grip in Sam’s hair to satisfy the wolf, then Dean is yanking harder, forcing Sam to face the moon above them. He screams when Dean’s teeth sink into his neck, the sound drawn out into a howl as Dean thrusts in, cock suddenly stretching him wider and wider and _shit_. Knotting, he realizes as Dean’s cock and knot fill him. _Claim, knot, alpha_ spin through his mind as his body rolls in orgasm in Dean’s arms. The howls slowly die in their throats, fading to hoarse breaths and soft moans because Dean is still coming in Sam. His hips rock lazily, dragging the knot ever so slightly back and forth inside Sam.

Dean strokes his hands gently over Sam as he lowers him down, allowing his mate to rest on his elbows, groaning as the shift in position causes Sam to tighten around his knot. Carefully, Dean drapes himself over Sam’s back, lapping at the bleeding claim bite on his throat and nuzzling his mate tenderly, the fire and desperation dissipating more the longer they’re tied.

“Sam?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you alright?” Dean asks quietly.

Sam cracks an eye to stare up at his brother balefully. “You bit me, jerk.”

Dean snorts. “Had to. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Mature, Dean,” Sam says wryly, and Dean looks embarrassed. “Hey now,” Sam soothes. “I’m just teasing. I, um. I would’ve asked you to, you know. If you hadn’t.”

Dean massages Sam’s limbs and back until his knot goes down enough for him to pull free. Sam shudders when Dean’s fingers play with his hole, pressing the come that has leaked out back in. He opens his mouth to protest only to choke on a moan when a tongue flicks over him. He comes again before Dean finishes cleaning him, and the alpha grunts in satisfaction before pulling Sam up onto unsteady feet. They start to make their way to the cabin, the oddness of going unclothed prompting them to shift. The run is playful this time, ambling through the woods, and chasing rabbits for food  to sate their post-sex hunger. Like puppies, they tumble into the cabin and shower, scrubbing each other clean and then dry once they step out.

Landing in the clean sheets of the big bed is heavenly on sore and tired bodies. They’re warm cuddled up together, dozing for a while before Sam starts teasing his fingers down the soft skin of Dean’s belly. Dean hums, opening his eyes to look down at Sam, who only grins and pushes up for a kiss. He slides up to straddle Dean’s waist, rocking back to his brother’s hard cock nudges along his ass.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean growls, and Sam shudders with a thrill at the flash of red in Dean’s eyes. Carefully, he reaches behind himself, pushing two fingers into his own wet heat.

“God that’s weird,” he murmurs, bringing his hand forward to study the slick on his fingers. Dean grabs his wrist, drawing it down to lap he wetness away.

“It’s good,” Dean moans. “So good. Means you’re ready for me, ready to mate.”

Sam wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, kneeling up and pressing the head against his hole. He gasps when the thick head breaches him, moaning on the entire slide down until he bottoms out, head tossed back. Grinding down, Sam sets an almost torturously slow pace, relishing how Dean’s cock presses against his prostate. Dean eventually loses his patience, tightening his hold on Sam’s hips and fucking up into him until his knot is popping in and out of Sam’s hole.

“Dean, please, please fuck. Knot me, want your knot, please,” Sam begs above him, small cries tearing from him every time the knot passes his rim. Dean holds off as long as he can before knotting Sam deep, eyes locked on his brother as Sam comes without a hand on him trembling and shaking before crumpling against Dean’s chest.  The knot doesn’t last as long this time, but it’s accompanied by the slick slide of come that makes Sam’s nose wrinkle. Dean makes a mental note to check in to getting Sam a plug, part of him off put by his seed going to waste. Instead, he rolls out of bed to grab a cloth to wipe them clean, flinging it toward the pile of dirty laundry in the corner.

“We gonna talk about this, Dean?” Sam asks when he’s cradled along Dean’s side again.

“Do we need to?” Dean says softly.

“Dean. We’re - I mean,” Sam rakes a hand through his hair as he sits up. “First we’re werewolves and now we’re lovers? It’s a lot and we can't just ignore it. No matter how much we may want to.”

“Are you regretting this already Sam? Cause I don’t know if we can take it back,” Dean is quiet still, sitting up beside his brother.

“No! No, Dean I don’t regret being your mate. But I just. This is so far from where I thought I’d be, so far from what we should be as hunters and as brothers and I can’t -” Sam is horrified to find himself tearing up and his words catch in his throat. Dean wraps his arm around Sam’s shoulder, and the younger Winchester all but collapses against his brother’s side.

“When have we ever been what people expected, Sammy?” Dean tries for a laugh but it comes out dry. He hardly sounds as confident as he’s trying to be, and Sam feels oddly better that he’s not alone in his doubts. “We can still hunt. We’re still us, just a bit . . . closer.”

Sam snorts at the attempted innuendo.

“Look, man. What else are we gonna do? Bobby’s on the in, we’re getting a handle on it, and we just have to roll with the punches, right?”

Sam nods finally, taking a deep breath and lifting his head to offer up a small smile. Dean strokes a thumb over the dimple in his cheek and pulls Sam up for a kiss.

“Now, come here. I’m not done with you yet,” Dean growls playfully, shoving Sam down onto the bed.

 

The brothers spend the next two days fucking, hunting, and playing together in the forest. Sam lays his own claim mark on Dean’s neck while he’s riding his brother on the couch, relishing in the hard and fast knotting it earns him. The mark is a mirror to his own, and Sam feels a deep sense of satisfaction when he looks at it. His is healed by the time the full moon rises, shiny scar tissue standing out starkly against his tan skin. Dean takes every opportunity he gets to touch it, licking at it or stroking it gently with the pads of his fingers until Sam demands or pleads to be taken.

They find the desperation wanes when the height of the moon passes, something they’re grateful for since Bobby is due back soon. Neither has any idea how they’ll handle telling the old man about them, if they even will, or if Bobby will give them any choice. It’s obvious they’re going to fight less than they’d been, and the sudden return to “normal” is sure to set of warning signals, nevermind the scarring on their throats.

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon when the sound of Bobby’s truck catches their attention. They’re out of bed in a flash, stripping the sheets and remaking the bed, haphazardly throwing on clothes in an attempt to look decent. Dean starts rummaging in the fridge and Sam slumps at the table, going for casual but the unimpressed look Bobby gives them says more than any words could.

“Well, you’re alive. And so are the locals,” Bobby says mildly, and Sam’s face goes hot when his eyes trace the bite scar on his neck. Bobby’s expression goes uncomfortable for a moment, but he shakes his head, taking a seat at the table. Sam’s not sure what Bobby sees on his face to spur the old man to speak again, although this time his words are directed mostly at the table top. “I did some readin’ alright? Much as I could do. I ain’t gonna ask questions, and you two . . . just don’t tell okay?” Sam nods, and Dean hums in affirmation, plunking plates of eggs and venison on the table, settling down to eat.

“Got wind of a case down in Arizona. Sounds like a chupacabra. Think you boys are up for it?” Bobby asks between bites.

Dean looks surprised, swallowing his bite before asking, “What about those wolves in the last case? I feel like we should head back, clean up our mess.”

“Nah, it’s been handled. Got the call last night, but there’s nobody available to head to Arizona. Guys that took the weres are a little banged up, said they’re taking some down time.”

“Sure, Bobby. I think we’re up for it.”

The three of them work to batten down the cabin, readying the weapons as Bobby goes over the information he’s got on the case. It’s getting messy fast, from what he can tell, and the brothers agree its best to get down there as soon as possible. Bobby sees them off, planning to stay one more night in the cabin before heading back to Sioux Falls. There’s a snap of a twig behind him, and he snorts.

“How long you been around?”

“Long enough,” Rufus says. “Someone had to make sure your boys didn’t make snacks out of the townsfolk. S’ides, this is my place. I didn’t need anyone snooping around here if things went south.’

"So. When are you gonna tell them?” he asks casually.

“Tell them what, Rufus?” Bobby says blandly.

“Ah, nothing,” Rufus answers, shaking his head, ignoring the way his friend’s eyes flash gold in the sunset.

 

 


End file.
